


Sleepless

by RaeBans



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Comfort, Cute, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:13:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28943511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaeBans/pseuds/RaeBans
Summary: After losing to Karasuno, Ushijima can't sleep. He goes on a night run, and he finds you, the team manager, out as well. Apparently, you couldn't sleep either.
Relationships: Ushijima Wakatoshi/Reader
Kudos: 67





	Sleepless

Ushijima lays in the bed of his dorm room, staring blankly at the ceiling. His body feels like it weighs a thousand pounds; he’s certain his eyelids should be feeling just as heavy. They played five full sets. No one expected five full sets. His arms are leaden, and his stomach sits like a rock in his body. Perhaps the moon is too bright tonight, he thinks to himself. That’s why he’s still awake. It sits as a full pearl in the sky, hanging against the deep blue. The budding and blooming trees outside of his window are bathed in the light, and the shadows of the branches dance against the wall.

He should be exhausted, but he can’t sleep.

He looks at his hand. Perhaps the sting of the ball against his palm feels too fresh. Maybe he can still hear the squeak of sneakers and the cheering and the referee’s whistle and it’s all too loud in his head. Though, it might be because the moment when the ball hit the ground won’t stop replaying in his head. 

He gets out of bed. Rifling through his drawers, he pulls out his Shiratorizawa sweatsuit, gets dressed quickly, and slides on his running shoes. His legs ache as he walks down the hallway, exiting the dorms, but there’s no way he can lay in that bed for a second longer.

The night air is a pleasant touch against his face, cooling the sweat on his forehead that he hadn’t realized was there. He stretches his hamstrings and quadriceps thoroughly before staring his jog. Ushijima takes a deep breaths as he runs. Usually a run clears his head. Everything would fall away while he became focused on his breathing and the cadence of his feet against the pavement. Tonight though, Ushijima finds it quite a shame that his thoughts are sprinting through his mind faster than his feet can carry him. He tries, but his lead-like legs can’t run faster. 

He slowly makes his way down the street alone, jogging and thinking to himself how much he’s come to dislike the number ten. His mind wanders agains. This time, drifting to you, who had loyally managed the volleyball club for your entire three years of high school. Before the team walked onto the court, he remembers the way your fist felt against his chest when you gently tapped his ace number. You smiled up at him, then said, “Let’s go to nationals one last time.”

But he failed.

Ushijima stops jogging as he approaches a small park in an adjacent neighborhood. Hands on his hips, he takes a couple of deep breaths until the creaking of chains draws his attention. A figure, draped in a white Shiratorizawa jacket, sits on one of the swings, gently moving back and forth. Under the full moonlight, he can see the strands of (h/c) hair move in a gentle breeze. He begins walking towards the playground as if he were drawn to the place. A twig snaps under under his shoe.

The figure turns, revealing your face, cheeks streaked red with the marks of tears. You quickly look away, but Ushijima approaches you.

“It’s dangerous to be alone out here at night,” he says sternly.

You laugh lightly, shrugging your shoulders as you wrap your fingers around the cold chains, “Couldn’t sleep. I guess you couldn’t either ... Well, since you’re up, give me a push.”

Ushijima merely blinks back.

“Oh, come on,” you puff your cheeks and kick your legs childishly, “Give me a little push, Waka-chan.”

Ushijima doesn’t miss the way you say his name, and it does its job, drawing him to you. He places his hands at your upper back. You can’t help but to notice how warm and large they are, even through the fabric of your sweat jacket. He pushes you slowly, gently. Neither of you speak. Instead, you listen to the rhythmic creaking that mixes with the gently chirping of whatever insect could possibly be awake at this hour. Ushijima continues to push you while you try it mimic the night sounds by whistling. He didn’t notice it before when he initially approached you, but there’s no way that jacket could belong to you. The shoulders hang low, the sleeves are bunched around your wrist, the back tails behind you. It completely consumes your frame, engulfing you almost entirely, and it suddenly clicks in his head. 

“This is my jacket,” he says.

“Oh, is it?”

“It is. It’s the one I lent you during the third round of the winter tournament our second year when Satori spilled his sports drink on yours,” Ushijima recalls the moment perfectly, still pushing you, “I never expected you to return it with your record of borrowed-to-returned pencils, but I never thought you’d still have it either.”

“Of course I still have it! I’m offended, Waka-chan.”

He hums, “Well, you lose all the pencils I lend you so I don’t expect much.”

“This is different,” you say.

“How so? It’s something that I gave you.”

You blush. Thumbing the sleeve with the carefulness of a mother stroking the cheek of her baby, you think of how many times this jacket has dried your tears and how often the scent wafting from it has brought you comfort ... and how much you love the boy who once wore it. 

“It just is, okay?”

“I fail to see how, but alright.”

Again, silence befalls the two of you, and he is left staring at the top of your head. Ushijima grabs the chain, halting your swing. Your back hits his chest; you tilt your head back to look at him, eyebrows knitted with confusion. The moon highlights all the things he likes about your face, like your beautiful lips and pretty lashes. And the things he wishes he didn’t have to see like your stained cheeks and puffy eyelids. 

You see the slight twitch below his eyes and face forward again. The back of your head rests against him. 

“Did you cry?” Ushijima asks, “Because of the match, I mean.”

“Of course,” you answer knowing that he wouldn’t want anything but honesty, “I cried for both of us.”

“For both?”

You nod.

“When the team walked off the court, everyone was crying. Everyone expect for you, Waka-chan. You were so stoic faced until the very end, and I knew you wouldn’t cry even if you were alone,” you lean your head back to look at him, “You’re so strong. It’s probably what I love about you most, but it festers if you keep it in. Keeps you awake at night.”

Ushijima presses his lips into a thin line.

“But, you know, they say crying cleanses the soul. It washes out our eyes and lets the pain run away so we can look at life with a clear view again,” you say. 

“Who says that?” 

“People.”

“People who?”

“People-people, Wakatoshi. It doesn’t matter who said it. You’re focusing on the wrong thing.”

Ushijima gives you one of his small smiles as he chuckles; the kind where only one corner of his lip quirks upwards, but you can feel the warmth behind it easily.

“Thank you for crying for me,” he says.

“Of course.”

Returning his gesture, you grin with a brilliance that could make the moon, no, the sun bow its head. He finds himself wishing you’d smile for him more, but you should have something to smile for. He won’t lose next time. He’ll take you to the top to show you the view. And you’ll never have to cry for him again.

“So, Waka-chan, is your view clear again?”

“Yes, very,” he says with a small yawn.

You hop off the swing. As you turn on your heels to face him, your jacket fans out around you like a dress. The fabric almost glows under the moonlight. Perhaps the exhaustion just caught up to him or maybe it’s something else, but you look like a dream to him, even though your mouth is agape in a yawn. 

“Here,” you say, offering a hand; he looks at it, “You look tired. Let me walk you back. It’s dangerous to be alone out here at night.”

“And who said that?”

You crack a smile as he intertwines his fingers with yours, “You’re still focusing on the wrong thing, Waka-chan.”

Your hand fits so nicely in his. It’s soft and smooth, warm against his calloused palms. Ushijima gives it a gentle squeeze, smiling to himself.

“Yeah, I suppose I am.”


End file.
